Dewey Discovers the Internet!
by DrizztDo'UrdenNeverDies
Summary: A slight AU in which Dewey has some serious issues that he wants to solve, but doesn't really feel like he can talk to anyone about. A slow story of his recovery, revival, and eventual triumphant return to the world of the living. This roughly follows the show's episodes, but there will be variety. Rated T for various dark themes, such as mental illness. R&R, please and thank you!
1. August 11th, 2017

August 11th, 2017

Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I'm afraid. I'll huddle under my blankets, somehow entirely unsure of where I am even though I've never moved once in my life and scared of the writhing world around me even though nothing remotely traumatic has ever happened to me. I'll attempt to remind myself of these facts, but it doesn't always work. Scratch that. It almost never works. I don't know why and I'm trying so hard it makes me want to cry, but I never have the guts to figure out what's going on and why. I'm sure a carefree, happy-go-lucky soul around other people but when I'm by myself, my heart aches with a sadness I can't escape. I've tried nearly everything, like getting lost in TV like Louie, or comforting myself in knowledge like Huey, or just anything, books, art, and freaking thing to keep my mind off of the night, but nothing ever

seems to work for me and now it seems that this, this weird internet journal is my only resource, because I feel like I'm going insane. I hear a voice sometimes that I know is just my thoughts, but I get so worked up that I think I'm going crazy. It- I never tell me anything useful, anything I need to hear. It- I only ever worry, obsess, and fear things. Even a simple noise can set me off, but the most annoying thing is that I don't know why any of this is happening to me. I don't feel like I know anything at all anymore. I'm not completely sure I ever will know things again.

Uncle D has a job interview tomorrow. Huey, Louie, and me are going to sail to Cape Suzette and be back before anyone, especially Uncle Donald, knows we're gone. I'm excited, but I'm also over thinking it and worrying about pointless things, too. I don't know why I can't just enjoy our supposedly expected hijinks without ruining it, but there's a reason I don't talk. If I'm a buzzkill, the other two would probably disown me, since acting foolishly brave and joyful is kind of my only attribute. But even that only counts as half, because I don't even know if I'm actually like that when everything comes down to it. I might be foolish, but I'm pretty sure I'm not really as brave as I make it seem like I am and I think the existence of this is proof enough that I am the opposite of joyful. I'm not even sure it's good to be joyful. I mean what if joy is just a cover up and everyone who's happy is actually just deceiving themselves into being that way. There are... so many terrible things, I think, going on around me but the majority of the time I am idle and complacent with these things. I mean, I'm not doing anything to stop them, so I must be complacent, or at least that's what I imagine an old white human writing during the Mexican-American War era would say about it. But that's beside the point.

Sometimes I'll be laying on my bed, doing whatever I can at the moment to distract myself, when I find a dead leaf on me, or maybe a old piece of food, and suddenly I'm scared to death my feathers are disintegrating and my skin is peeling off. It's a disturbing thought, but usually the first thing in my mind is either "Who did this to me?" or "What will they think when they see this?" I'm worried someone will finally find out I'm the paranoid anxious freak I really am, or all my theories, however brief they turn out to be in the grand timeline of my mind, are actually true and someone really is poisoning me slowly and that's why my pee was the wrong shade of yellow that one day last week, or maybe the city really is secretly ruled by a brigade of scepter-wielding humanoid cactus creatures. I know that whenever I reread this, I will just run myself into a wall trying to understand myself and tell whether I've finally lost it or not, but there is a beast in my mind that needs to be heard roar by any random wanderers of this dusty corner of the internet. I just hope my family doesn't find this, and if they do I hope they can't tell that I'm who I am because I know for sure that would ruin everything I've worked so hard to build over these past few years.

I know I shouldn't be so scared of my family, I know they're supposed to love me no matter what stupid mistakes I make, and whatever I say, they're supposed to love me, but how can I be sure every fairytale is true? I mean, mom is gone and I don't know why. I don't know if it was us being close to hatching that caused her to leave or if Donald drove her off or if somehow I managed to scare her away before I even hatched, I don't know anything at all. And that scares the living daylights out of me. What if I'm incapable of learning? Of really knowing things? What if I'm just destined to end up dumb and sad? What if I'm alone forever, and I lose Louie and Huey and Donald somehow to the currents of time and I die alone, drenched in rain that is no longer refreshing in its simple sadness?

I need to stop this. I know I won't be able to, but I should go to sleep. I guess who ever reads this, I'll see you later. If anyone reads this. Probably no one will read this. I think this is the most I've ever written on my phone, ever, and my hands hurt. Smell you later, world.

**A/N: The format of this is going to be like diary entries for a bit, but I promise we will get into slipping from the diary to third person eventually, and I also promise there is an overarching story!**


	2. August 15th, 2017

August 15th, 2017

Well, we moved into the mansion of Scrooge McDuck! I'm so… I guess happy? He likes us I guess, and it turns out he's our great uncle! I'm not sure he's not scamming us or something yet, but I want so bad to believe, mostly for Louie, that this is true. Louie doesn't show it, but I think he's in his own personal kind of heaven. Scrooge keeps trying to teach him about how to pull yourself up by your boot straps or some old west sounding stuff like that, which Louie isn't a super huge fan of, but that's beside the point. Louie loves it here, I know. It is pretty cool that now we get to live in a big house and go on adventures. Scrooge took us on an adventure a few days ago, too, which was also really cool. We found the jewel of Atlantis (It was mostly me, but Scrooge helped too lol) and foiled a concerningly murderous plot. there's a housekeeper, Mrs. Beakley, and she's awesome, almost like a spy or something, and she has a cute kid, a grandkid, I think, named Webbie who's really obsessed with our family. Webbie is a little strange, but really nice. I'm not too sure about them yet, though. Having someone obsessed with you and your life is very disconcerting. Of course, because I'm freaked out about the most pointless things, two very dangerous people, such as them, knowing where I sleep isn't the most comforting thought in the world. I'm exhausted, but I can't get to sleep. I actually haven't been able to sleep one single minute since we moved in here, which makes me wonder if Scrooge or the housekeeper or Webbie or all of them, together, are poisoning us slowly. It might just be me that's getting poisoned, though since I'm the only one who can't sleep. I should stop worrying. If I'm gonna die, I want to enjoy my last days in Duckburg. But maybe they want me to think I'm dying so that then I'll do a Dewey and stop worrying and then they'll just kill me and eat me? I've heard stress makes duck meat chewy, so they would want me to stop worrying if they're going to have a decent meal. So in that case, I probably should just keep worrying and then if they do eat me, it'll be like a big screw you, cannibals!

Suffice to say, life has been… a little insane lately. Not only because of my over-active paranoia, but also because of these adventures and because I can't sleep, every movement I make seems exaggerated and wobbly. Every whisper is a scream, and by the time someone is screaming I can't hear them because they're too quiet. This whole deal is making me a little crazy. Crazier. I went to the bathroom yesterday to brush my teeth for bed, and when I looked in the mirror I had long, golden blonde hair tied in a ponytail. I reminded myself of a picture I saw on Webbie's board next to Scrooge's. I got into bed that night thinking about how I would style my hair in the morning because by the time I left the mirror I had forgotten that I didn't actually have hair like that. I need sleep so bad I'm thinking of getting Huey to "accidentally" knock me out. I'm thinking of sneaking into Scrooge's bathroom (or washroom, as he calls it, which I guess is like some old people thing) and eating some pills and screaming so someone will take me to the hospital and I can ask a doctor for help. Maybe I can also ask them for help with my head, my imagination that keeps holding a gun to my head. Maybe they will know what to do and I will be cured and I can see the world for what it is for the first time in my life. Or maybe I'll take some pills and I won't scream at all. Maybe then I'll just hope, not that someone would find me, but I would hope that I could sleep forever, which is how long I'd need to to catch up fully at this point. Or maybe I,ll just lay a few more nights wide awake in my bed before I do anything. Maybe I'm just too tired, and maybe I'll just stay that way. I know for a fact that the only thing I know about anything at all is that I don't know anything at all, so anthyding can hadplen.

I also… found a painting with mom in it. It seems like she was in some kind of adventuring trio with Scrooge and uncle Donald, which is so epic, but also I'm sad now, because I haven't seen her anywhere but pictures. I want to know her and who she is so bad it hurts sometimes. It's so bittersweet and I guess I don't know how to feel other than confused. I might tell Huey and Louie later, but for now I want figure other things out first. I'm trying to tell myself it's better that way but I'm not sure. It's freaky, but at least I can distract myself from all my fears sometimes. I want to even be able to tell her just one thing, even if I never got to see her again, because so far that would be better than where we're at right now. I want to thank her for being alive, even if it was just long enough to almost see me, Louie, and Huey to our hatching. I don't get why, exactly, we had to be the ones without our mother. I mean, what about the Beagle Boys? They might have turned out to be superheros or something if it weren't for their Ma. I can already see Huey eyeing Burger for some Jr. Woodchuck training, and we haven't even really met them proper yet! I wish I was like Huey, in that way at least. He can see the potential for genius in almost anyone. I can't even see the potential for not being a serial killer in most people, let alone something like smarts or friendship. I don't know what I'm gonna do when I get to the age when romance isn't considered disgusting anymore and suddenly everyone wants it.

I just yawned, which I think is a good sign. I have't yawned since we moved in, and I also haven't slept, which maybe means that since I yawned I can go to sleep? I dunno guys, I'm grasping at straws. I'll see you supposed "readers" later and maybe I'll dream something sweet tonight.


	3. September 24th, 2017

September 24th, 2017

Sorry for being out so long, "readers"! I still don't believe anyone actually reads this, and maybe it's better if I don't. Maybe it's easier for me. Oh, man, are you "guys" in for a treat tonight. It sounds like I'm feeling like contemplating possibilities, which is actually all I do ever, but sometimes I'm more into worrying than actually considering them.

I have slept since the last time I wrote, I promise. I've been sleeping better, actually. Mostly. So this might make more sense, if I'm lucky. I realize that most of my posts here sound like incoherent ramblings, and they really are. I'm paranoid and anxious to the extreme, and I haven't seem to got a soul to speak of. I'm scared of literally everything. I woke up two days ago and almost screamed because I saw a tree outside the window, and I was afraid it was falling on me right at that moment. It wasn't. I've tried asking Huey about this... terror inside me, without giving away that it's me, but the "it's for a friend" excuse has never worked on anybody ever and I don't trust myself to be more clever. So I resorted to the internet, which didn't help at all. I mostly got results for thrillers and death metal song lyrics, which doesn't say great things about my health. My brothers and I got kidnapped yesterday, but was rescued by Webbie, thankfully. I can't decide whether I'm scared to death, intoxicated, or a little bit of both, and I'm not completely sure I want to be living in the same house as her. It's so strange that the Beagle Boys and their Ma actually cause me much less fear and panic than everyone who's close to me and has protected me before. I guess the fact that they've been there for me in the past gives them the chance to leave in the future, and sometimes that thought makes me wonder if all this panic, all these horrible thoughts about the things people I love, I wonder if it's all just a coping mechanism, a reason not to believe they won't leave me. If they ever leave me I'll have the last laugh, a big I told you so to my heart, who fiercely believes they love me more than anything else. I really don't want that to be true. I don't want everything in me to be at war with each other, I don't want any of who I really am. I wanna be the Dewey everyone thinks I am. The kid who's brave, foolish, carefree, happy, lovable even when he messes stuff up, because he tries to fix it. I want his life.

I wish I had a talent. Like, I feel like I can't do anything as who I am. I'm not particularly good at anything but acting like I don't care about things. And that's a pretty lame talent, because if I share it with anyone, I'll basically have to tell them everything else that's going on, and I really can't do that or else they'll disown my ass like that *snaps*. I wish I was an artist, or a pianist, or a mathematician or something, no matter how dumb. Like, I at least want to be able to balance on one foot for an unhealthy amount of time or something. But I legitimately can't. Every inch of my skin is crawling, and my head aches all the time. It's better, for sure, since I've been able to sleep most of the time. But I still feel like I'm about to fall apart.

Last night, I was so exhausted from getting kidnapped and then getting rescued that I fell asleep without the normal toil of panic fighting my weary bones for headspace, which was nice. but I had the worst dream, probably one of the worst nightmares I've ever experienced. I was standing in the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. This time I didn't have long blonde hair, but I did have blood staining my shirt. When I opened the cabneit behind me to get a bandage I realized I was actually at the front door, and I had just opened it for a tall, thunderstorm grey feathered duck with pitch black eyes, even where the white was supposed to go. He was dressed in ratty black sweats and a black t-shirt. He seemed happy that I had let him in, but other than that, which I gathered from a flash of a smile on his face, he showed no emotion. He seemed to glide as he got closer to me, his feet barely touching the ground. All of a sudden, I had the worst feeling about what he was going to do to me, like steal my soul or something, and so I began to run away, as fast as I could, adrenaline pumping through me. I ran all through the mansion, but he always seemed to be one step behind me, gliding lazily along like I was simply strolling, giving him a damn tour or something. By now he had smirk on his face that reminded me of Louie when he was drooling over something expensive on TV, which was of course unnerving. Eventually, I made my way back down to the front doors and intended to go through them, but as I reached to open them they became solid and immovable. I turned around, determined to find some other exit, but it was too late. The duck had gotten so close to me he would have been able to get me no matter which way I ran. He pinned my wrists to the wall above me and as he opened his beak to reveal sharp, pointed teeth. I screamed, but unlike most of my dreams I didn't wake up before I felt his teeth rip through me. I slipped out of my body somehow, in the dream, and watched myself be torn from limb to limb as he ate every scrap of me I could see. There was blood staining his teeth and beak. When he was done, he turned to where I was watching and winked at me, then disappeared into a puff of grey feathers and black smoke. Then I woke up, maybe screaming and definitely sweating. My pillow was completely soaked. I felt like I was crusted in blood, so I went to the bathroom and splashed my face in super, like, ice cold water. I went back to bed, but couldn't get to sleep after I came up with the disturbing theory that I was the man, I was the black eyed duck that ate myself. I didn't- I still don't know what to make of that. I just try to avoid thinking about it, but sometimes it comes back to me, in full or in pieces, with a stunning kind of clarity I wish I could have for things I actually wanted to remember. I feel like it would be beautiful, perhaps even poetic, if I was so tortured by it.

Sometimes, I just feel like I'm still dreaming. Like no matter what I do, I can't shake the feeling that it's all a dream. My mind is clouded like the bathroom mirror after Louie takes his half hour long shower, but this isn't the kind of steam you can just wipe off the mirror with your hand and write love notes in. I half wonder what would happen if I jumped off a cliff. Like, would I finally wake up right before I hit the bottom? Would I splatter my guts everywhere across the rocks, painting them sunset red? Or would something altogether unexpected happen? What if I jumped but instead of falling I flew? That would actually be really cool. I wonder if I could get Gyro to invent a flying machine that could use my own body as the main mechanism so it wouldn't be like a plane or anything. But I should stop talking like that, I'll end up like Huey. But that actually wouldn't be so bad. I want to comfort myself the way that he does, by clinging to the JWG like it could save his life. It probably has, on more than one occasion. It's probably saved all our lives more times than anyone but Huey would ever like to admit.

I also probably need to get to sleep, dear "reader", so I guess Dewey is out.


	4. October 1st, 2017

October 1st, 2017

I'm a little panicked. I know it's only me being me, but I didn't sleep last night and it's really bothering me. I've been coped up in my room all day, and Louie and Huey both think I must be sick if I missed out on ice cream, which I did, on purpose. I told them I forgot and now the doctor is coming over. Mrs. Beakley is probably gonna take my phone away, so I won't be able to write this for awhile, so I'm doing it now. I was planning on it in a day or two, but apparently, according to Webbie, Mrs. Beakley strongly believes that blue light diminishes our immune system's strength. I've heard crazier. So, that's that I guess. I wish I could tell someone. Everyday, I get closer to not caring if they disown me. I just need to tell someone, somehow. If there was anyone I thought I could tell other than this screaming into the void that is the internet, I would have already. I know I must be going crazy. But I don't wanna be crazy, and not telling someone is probably a symptom or something. But everytime I try, I just think about how much it would hurt if they left me in the dust, or kicked me out for thinking such bad things about them and then I can't do it. I'm not even sure how I would begin to explain the web of theories and fears and triggers for said fears I have to someone. I don't think even Huey would understand it like I do. It makes sense to me, but I'm also in the middle of it all, so of course it would.

I mean, I'm sure whoever's reading this understands, at least to some extent, but that's because you've read paragraph upon paragraph of my sickness being dissected and worried over and confessed. I'm not sure how much of what I write here I could make myself admit to in front of any of those people, any of the people I care about what so ever. I bet no one who's sane would understand it, though. I mean who could understand the fear of constantly being watched when you're in a locked room with no windows other than a mental patient or a spy? I can guarantee to you that I was never and will never be a spy. I'm too cracked up to ever pass any kind of test or attend any difficult school that lasts longer than four years. Heck, I haven't even passed high school yet. I don't know if I can do even four years. Maybe I'l drop out. That could be interesting. What other kind of person could understand feeling like you're about to die constantly when you're not in any danger of death? Who else could understand feeling like you're about to fall apart if you don't eat and explode if you eat anything at all at the same time? I have to be crazy! I don't know any other explanation. Maybe there's something in the world I'm not aware of, some other person with a non-crazy condition that would make them feel like that. Maybe I'm not crazy. There have to be other things that make you feel like that. It's not feasible to believe that there wouldn't be something out there, even if the race of ducks doesn't know about it yet, that could cause what's happening to me to happen. What if I'm not crazy, what if all the dumb people are actually the smartest? What if language is a evolutionary setback rather than an achievement and a sign of intelligent life? But I should stop that, I sound like Huey.

In other, less frenzied, news I had the dream about the black eyes duck again. This time, though, he didn't eat me. He took out an extremely shinny chainsaw and cut me up as I watched. Thankfully, I didn't wake up feeling like I was coated in dried blood when I woke up this time. I just lay on my bed and watched the world for a few hours. It was almost nice, it would have been if I hadn't been running my head a mile a minute, worrying about every sound and shadow that crossed my path. I guess, I probably shouldn't have called it "lay" I should have called it being paralyzed by fear. Not like sleep paralysis, because I think I could have moved if I had had enough guts to, but I didn't because I was too scared. It was a weird feeling, actually being able to lay there until I felt okay to move. A lot of the time I'm forced to keep moving since I'm around other people, but now... I wasn't. I wonder if I actually felt like I could act how I feel around my friends and family, would I ever feel okay enough to move? Or would I just end up laying in bed all day, like that night? What would I do if I was okay, anyway? Who would I be? Would I be the Dewey everyone knows? Or would I be someone completely different? This brings me to ask the question, who am I really? Am I cool? Funny? Smart? Or am I kinda dumb? Do I make jokes that no one gets? Or maybe I think I'm really cool, but in reality I'm naive and easily manipulatable. Am I a loner? A partier? A poet, a dreamer, or a philosopher? I just want to be who I am. I wanna figure out who I am, and I wanna love who I am, because right now loving myself is a joke I tell in my head when I'm getting too worried about something. I'm afraid of myself, more than anything. I'm scared to death I'll loose control and do one of the many things I have to tell myself over and over not to do. It's one of the things that consciously keeps me from sleeping some days. I couldn't go to sleep for five days straight after I found out that sleep walking was a thing. Eventually, thankfully, I passed out due to exhaustion, but I still get uneasy somedays if I start to fall asleep.

I have to take a shower every other day at seven p.m. or else I'm afraid that I'll somehow have come in contact with a skin eating bacteria and I'll slowly deteriorate until there's no skin left on my body. This has never been a problem before, but sometimes we go on multi-day adventures, or at least ones that run past seven, so I've taken to carrying a washcloth and a bottle of water on me at all times so I'll always have something to clean myself with. Yesterday, in fact, we were out really late because me and my brothers went out on a boat, and left Webbie on a beach, so then she went and made a friend, which is great, but they crashed a Beagle Boy Party, which is not so great. So then me and Louie and Huey were out really late looking for her and helping her and her friend get safe. I didn't have time within all that to get clean, so I spent a hour after we got back in the shower, wiping myself down and washing off, and everyone started to get a little suspicious. It was a really close call, and it's another reason they think I'm sick.

I don't really know how to curb this terror. I wish there was something I could do to just stop worrying about this, but the truth is I have no way of knowing if I do have a flesh-eating bacteria inside me or on me or not. I just don't understand why this has to be a really specific part of my whole paranoia complex when there are only very few other things that are specific. At any given time, there might be something outrageously specific that I am scared to death of, but it tends to go away after I remove myself from the situation where the fear is being triggered. If there was someway I could mentally remove myself from my skin, which is the place where the fear is being triggered, then maybe I could learn to control it, but that would be really difficult and probably would require professional training or something. And that would require money. I don't have money, so I would have to get it from Scrooge, and he would want to know why because he's the cheapest man I know, so I would have to lie, but that would be really hard. He has a good sense about these things. And, even if I lied well, I would also have to have a good reason in my lie that I needed the money, which I could probably pull off with some research about Scrooge and what things he's paid for in the past, but that would be... so much work.

I'm gonna have to stop now because I hear Mrs. Beakley walking up the stairs so bye.


	5. October 15th, 2017

October 15th, 2017

I woke up today. It's a start. But it's getting so bad. I don't know how much longer I can take this. I've lived with it for ten years. My whole life. But I just don't know how long before I break. And everyone is starting to get suspicious. You'd think I'd have more coping skills than this, but nope. Not at all. I think I was screaming when I woke up, because Louie was standing over me, frowning. He walked away as soon as I opened my eyes, though. I wonder if it was just me. If I was just seeing him and he wasn't actually there. Because I know crazy people do that, and I still don't know if I'm crazy or not. Sometimes I worry that I'm not seeing things that are there, like maybe I'm not seeing or hearing someone who's calling my name and running towards me. Like I'm just not perceiving part of reality that everyone else is. It's kind of a constant fear. Sometimes I'l see a flash out of the corner of my eye and wonder if it was part of reality that I'm not seeing, but I saw it for just a second. I wonder if I'm actually in a coma on an alien planet and that flash was me waking up just for a second and seeing someone take my picture. Like none of us are actually there except me, they're all just my mind's creations, and I am just dreaming. One day I'll wake up, disoriented and sad, and realize that I was right, and then my life will go on like it usually does. I just can't remember this "usual life" because I'm in a dream.

Sometimes I can't get to sleep for a good reason, which are nights that I like. It's nice to be distracted by happy thoughts so much that I can't get to sleep. Usually I'm thinking of Launchpad or Webbie. I don't know why, but I really want to trust both of them. So I'll try and make lists of reasons I should trust one of them, and think of times when they've got my back.

I had a very close call with Huey finding out about this the other day. We were talking after we got trapped in this abandoned part of the subway, which we had to like, fix a train or something to get out of, and Huey realized that not everything is known to science. He was still freaking out a little bit, so I was calming him down, when he asked me why I seemed to be so skilled at calming one's self down. I assume it was an innocent question, for his own research purposes, but I froze on the spot. I had, still don't have, a decent excuse. I just got out of it by saying I was really tired and I actually should go to sleep right then and there, which was sort of true. I mean, I can't say that I've been trying to anchor down my hyperbolic imagination and overblown anxiety about literally everything in the world since the time I first took breath. I'm not sure if he would believe me, and if he did, then my cover would be completely blown anyway. It's a no-win situation for me. So that's something I have to think about. I'm kind of bad at flat out lying, though. Acting, sure, lying, no way. That's more Louie's thing. I wish I could. It would probably make my life way easier. But some part of me is glad, some part of me knows how hard it must be to sustain that kind of self.

Whatever. That's too philosophical for this early in the morning. Oh no! Someone's coming into my room so I guess this is goodbye, "readers!"

"Hey Dewey! Watcha up to?" Webbie asked, trotting into Dewey's room, where he sat on his bed, leaning against the pillow.

"Oh, nothing interesting," he answered, discreetly shoving his phone under his pillow. "Just some... homework."

"You're homeschooled," she pointed out. "It's all homework. But if you don't wanna tell me, I totally understand." Dewey glanced down at his feet. He wanted to tell someone. Anyone. So badly.

"Okay, um, actually maybe I should tell you... yeah, yeah, that could be good to talk about it make sure I'm not... loosing my mind." Webbie frowned at Dewey.

"Loosing your mind? What do you mean?" She asked, sitting down on the end of the bed.

"Well... where do I even start?" He asked the world. The world didn't reply. "I guess... an easy to explain thing. There's a dream I have sometimes about a grey duck with pure black eyes. He's always dressed in all black, too. He chases me around the mansion until I eventually trap myself and get cornered, and then he tears me apart, limb from limb, while I watch. One time I woke up feeling like I was covered in dried blood, went to the bathroom to go splash some water on my face, looked in the mirror and saw that I was the duck from my dreams. I have proof, if you wanna look. It's an online journal. Please believe me," he begged, his eyes wide. He didn't know he could speak of these things, didn't know how easily it would all come out after he started. Webbie looked at him for a second, then her eyes widened in understanding.

"Oh! I get it, this is like a Halloween thing! You're gonna tell me this creepy stuff leading to Halloween, and then on Halloween I'm gonna find you, like, locked in your room murdered or you'll go crazy and "hear voices" or something, right?" She sounded enthusiastic about this. Dewey's beak hung open in pure shock that she had so badly misinterpreted what was happening to him. "This'll be great! Hope I didn't ruin iiiit!" She shouted happily as she jumped and walked out of the room, humming. Dewey just stared at the place on the bed where she used to sit, then began to cry. It was little trickles of tears at first, little trickles that turned into his eyes screwed shut and waterfalls pouring that turned into full on sobs. There was nothing he could do to stop it, so he muffled it lamely with his pillow, just praying no one walked past his door as he had a breakdown. He cried for what felt like hours, and no one found him. He was almost thankful for this. Almost. But some small part of him had hoped, desperately that someone, anyone at all, even... even one of the Beagle Boys would have found him. By the time he had finished crying, it wasn't even because he was done feeling like crying. It just seemed like all of a sudden all the tears in his body had dried up and he found no other reserves of water. He was so exhausted, so drained from all those tears that he felt like maybe there was a huge anchor, tying him to the bed and he feel fast asleep, belly down on the bed. It was only one in the afternoon.


	6. November 1st, 2017

November 1st, 2017

I'm not sure how much longer I can take this. I'm panicking, even more than before somehow, and I can't believe how hard it's gotten to take a step out of bed. I'm stuck in my head all the time, and if I'm not stuck in my head then I'm figuring out how to get back in. It's a vicious cycle that makes me end up sitting in my room for hours on end, contemplating death, love, life, war, space, and time, and how I can get away with cheating all of them. I'm too tried to barely think these days and I want to burst out of this shell so bad. After Webbie giving me a chance to tell her and then taking it away, I don't know how I'm supposed to go on. It's like seeing a lifeline get burned in front of your face when you're drowning. I don't trust her anymore. I can't, or else I would. I know logically it's not her fault at all. She is dangerous, but she is also so very sweet and I want to trust her so bad it hurts. But I just can't make myself. I mean, I like her a lot. But not quite enough, I guess. This goes back to my theory of me being destined to end up all alone. I just can't stand this anymore! I don't want to live like this! I can't! I can't! I can't! I can't!

Dewey frowned at the small light that illuminated his face in the dark. His phone. He had grown to hate the thing over the past few months. While at times it was the only thing he could use to ward off his fears, it was also the only thing that held all his terrible secrets. It was a liability, since he used a notepad app to rough draft his posts, even though they usually just went up without much, if any editing, just spellcheck. He kept every single word he wrote. He didn't know why, there was just some kind of comfort in seeing his terror flat on a screen, painted out in plain to see, easy to read, black 12pt times new roman. It gave his fears some reality, like "oh shit this is actually happening to me," but it also let him breathe easier sometimes, when there was something he just had to get off his chest. So maybe he didn't hate the phone. Maybe it was a more bittersweet thing.

"Hey Dew, watcha dewey-ing?" Huey asked, his laughing face appearing over the edge of the bed.

"Um! Nothing!" Dewey said, not even noticing the pun his brother had used. Huey frowned at that. He shoved his phone under his pillow before Huey could see it, but unfortunately (or fortunately? Who knows anymore) Huey was sharp as a tack and saw the gleam of the screen out of the corner of his eye.

"Are you okay?" Huey asked, climbing on to the bed and sitting next to his triplet. "I thought you were sleeping better these days." He looked over at Huey, eyes wide. Once upon a time, the triplets had known about a select few of Dewey's problems. Dewey had completely forgotten about that part of his childhood, when in his mother's stead, Huey and Louie would take turns reading good night stories to him late into the night until they were sure he was fast asleep. Donald had never known, since he always fell asleep almost as soon as dinner was over. He worked too hard in those days. Dewey shook his head. Maybe Huey would understand. The darkness and fear in his bones hissed at him as he opened his beak to talk, but he ignored it. He had to.

"No, I'm... I'm not okay. I haven't been sleeping well in a very long time," Dewey said, breathing heavily. It took too much effort to say those few words. It was so little of the whole story that Dewey nearly laughed at his own inability to speak like a normal duck. Huey looked him dead in the eyes.

"That's not all, is it." It wasn't a question, but Dewey shook his head anyway. "Okay, well, I can't say this for sure, but I do know how strong you are. You've survived so much, Dew. Sometimes I think you're stronger than any of the rest of us. I'm not the right person to help you, but in the morning I want you to go straight to Scrooge. He'd know what to do." Dewey nodded and Huey continued. "I know it'll sound silly, but do you want me to read to you? It used to help you sleep all the time."

"No, thank you though. And thank you for... noticing. I know I don't say this enough, Huey, but you're a really great brother," Dewey said, his heart aching. He hugged Huey tighter than you would think possible for a ten year-old to do, then let go too quickly. Huey nodded, and started to climb down, then paused.

"I'm here for you, Dewey. Just yell." Dewey nodded again and Huey climbed down the rest of the way. Dewey took his phone out from under his pillow and continued to write.

Well, I'm finally going to be strong enough to go to someone. I have to be. I just had a conversation with my brother, Huey, and he told me to go to my great uncle, which is good advice. I'm ninety percent sure that my great uncle can do anything. Maybe that means he can help me, somehow. I know this has been a particularly short post, but I think I should go to bed. I want to have a clear head, at least, clear compared to my sleep deprived self, to explain everything to him. Bye for now, "readers."

Dewey hit post and shut off his phone, half tempted to throw it across the room, but was unwilling to possibly lose all the words he had put together. He instead placed it gently next to his pillow and lay down, staring at the ceiling. He lay like that for hours on end, just waiting for the night to take him back. Eventually, too close to the sunrise for any real sleep to happen, he drifted off. There were no dreams, thankfully, just darkness and peace.

The next day, Louie climbed up the bunk ladder to find Dewey still fast asleep, much later than usual. He usually was the first one up, or at least that's what Louie, and everyone else, actually, thought. He went to prod Dewey awake, but before he could lay a hand on the duck Huey whisper-shouted for him to leave Dewey alone.

"He's having trouble again, Lou. I think we should leave him be. And maybe keep it a secret, until he wants to people." Huey advised, and Louie solemnly nodded. When it came to his brother's mental health, they wouldn't mess around for the world. He needed every scrap of it he could get, and despite even if Louie wouldn't admit it, he would have given every pilfered coin, every single jewel he owned, every single thing he owned down to the clothes on his back, to see Dewey smile for real. Not his "oh, I'm trying to be normal smile that was all any of them had seen the past few years," either. The real smile of Dewey's that shined like the sun and was as graceful as moonlight.


	7. November 3rd, 2017

November 3rd, 2017

Sometimes when I close my eyes and try to go to sleep at night, the inside of my eyelids start to burn. I have the worst feeling something is crawling on me and when I go to smash it, I just end up slapping myself. One time I slapped, but the feeling didn't go away and I was sure the flesh-eating bacteria had finally gotten to me and it was making my skin literally crawl. It's weird, yet somehow one of the least frightening things I have happen to me. Sometimes at night I'll hear mosquitoes buzzing around my head, but then I can never find them, even if I use a flashlight. It makes me wonder if they're not really there. Sometimes I'll look at the ground, to see a rock or a piece of paper or a dust bunny, and when I look away, I swear I can see it crawling out of the corner of my eye. When I look back, it's at the exact same place it was before.

I'm so scared that something is going to go wrong with my bodily functions. I don't know why, exactly, but it just seems all too likely. A lot of otherwise healthy people have weird health problems for seemingly no reason. Sometimes it's genes, sometimes it's their environment, sometimes no one can seem to figure out why. I'm afraid I'll be one of those cases where no one sees it coming, because I'm really healthy, and then it drops like a bomb and no one knows why and everyone panics, so nothing gets done, or maybe the doctors are just too late, and then I'll die. If I die, I want to be given a viking's funeral, with mom as the one who lights the fire. If they can find her. I refuse to believe that she is dead. I mean, in that picture, she just felt so alive, and her note to Scrooge didn't sound like it could be deadly to take the Spear of Selene. It just sounded like she was sorry about it, for whatever reason. Unless that reason was that the Spear of Selene was some kind of pill or poison that would kill her, and she took it because she had the same issues I do, and she just couldn't live with herself anymore. I would understand, I think, if she did that. But I wouldn't like it. I wouldn't be able to deal with that for a while, so I guess I don't quite want to know, not yet.

I haven't slept for two days, I think. I was a little snappy with Webbie yesterday, and I feel kinda bad about it. I want to apologize but I have no better excuse than I was really tired, and I was, but Webbie would want to know why. She cares about me, I think. I'm not sure how, yet, and I'm not sure I want to know if it's going to change the way I see her. I can't help liking her, it seems, because even after she thought I was pulling a prank on her, I still see her in my dreams sometimes. She's the one I'm usually telling my terrible secrets to. I wish I could tell her them in real life, but I'm afraid she would just think I was making my "prank" go on way too long.

On another note, I went to talk to Scrooge yesterday. He was... surprisingly unsurprised. It runs in the family, apparently. I knew my genes were cursed. I guess now I at least sort of know why this is happening to me. I wonder if Huey, Louie, or Donald ever had problems like this that I didn't know about because I was so focused on myself. Scrooge was able to give me a little bit of comfort, that this happens sometimes, and while it does mean I'm at least a little crazy (he said a little because I didn't tell him everything, I'm definitely all the way crazy), there are a lot of different types of crazy out there, and I might still be able to live my life the way I want to. Unfortunately, this doesn't solve anything in the short term, but he told me that with a variety of different things there's a good chance I would be able to power through this. He also told me that no matter what, he's here for me, which a good thought. Part of me wonders if he's just saying that, but more of me just needs to believe him right now. I can assess whether he's trying to backstab me later. Maybe I won't want to later, though. Maybe after I'm fixed that won't happen to me, I won't constantly be trying to figure out who's going to get me and who isn't. Maybe I'll be able to trust people. I want to be able to trust people. Really, I wanna be like Launchpad. He seems so serene. He just falls in love with everything and everyone, all the time, I think. He gets tricked sometimes, like on Neverrest, but it never seems to dent his trust in the world. His heart is completely whole and so full of love and it makes me want to cry. It hurts how much I want to love like he does, but it hurts even more knowing that, at least for now, I can't.

I should probably get going. I'm too tired to be writing this. Bye "readers", I'm sure you're all out there loving my words tonight.

Dewey sighed, hit post, and closed his eyes. It was four in the morning and he hadn't been to sleep. His writing probably sounded like none sense, his paragraphs for sure didn't have anything to do with each other, but at least it was letting his readers know he was alive. His "readers." He wondered if there was anyone out there, hanging on the every word of his. Someone, anyone who actually cared. Not for the story, but because this was a real thing happening to a real person. He wondered. He could have wondered all morning, but that didn't do anything, did it. He opened his eyes and sat up. Scrooge had taught him a simple breathing technique that he was supposed to do to calm himself down. It hadn't worked yet, but he only been doing it for a day. Admittedly, he had already used it ten times, but that was beside the point. He had to give it time to work its magic, he assumed. He hoped, really. He sat up straight, legs crossed, and breathed into his belly, the way Scrooge had shown him. He had said to Dewey to take in breath for four second and let it out for seven. It sounded like random numbers, but Scrooge had assured Dewey that they were not. Dewey wanted to believe him. The trick was to breath as deep as possible, and to stay as still as possible, except for your belly, while doing it. Dewey did it four times all in a row. It calmed his racing heart a minute amount every time, but it didn't seem to make a real big difference.

"Patience," Dewey whispered to himself. "Patience," he said again, doing the breathing exercise once more. It made a bigger difference this time. His heart seemed to almost stop pushing against the bones that were its cage for a few seconds. Almost was good enough for now, Dewey thought, and lay down on his back, electing to stare up at the ceiling for the rest of the night. It was way too dark to do anything else, and Dewey wasn't quite sure he wanted to do anything else anyway. There was a certain dryness that had taken over his life lately and it made him kind of sad. He didn't know why, but everything seemed a little... gray. The sparkle he used to see in the mornings when the sunlight poured over the front lawn was gone, even though the sunlight remained.

He fell asleep sometime after five, sometime way too close to when his brothers and Webbie got up to get any real sleep, but he didn't particularly care. Even if it was bad sleep, it didn't change the fact that it was sleep. He woke up the next morning with dark purple bruises under his eyes and a lack of energy that concerned everyone who knew Dewey at all.

He lay in his bed, still staring at the ceiling, even though he had fallen asleep and then woke back up about half and hour ago. There was nothing, was there. Every bit of life he had in his heart was gone.


	8. November 10th, 2017

November 10th, 2017

I know I've been posting a lot lately, but I really felt the need to get this out of me. You guys know I'm scared, paranoid, and an insomniac. Bt something strange happened today. I slept. I hope nothing's wrong, but I slept really well. A few days ago, right after I posted last, actually, I got really sad. Like, too sad for any knowable reason. It just felt like the world was on me and I was about to die. I was just waiting to die. But it changed. Last night I feel asleep and when I woke up this morning I wasn't sad anymore. I don't really know what's going on, but I'm giddy! For the first time in as long as I remember, I was happy! I made myself a piece of toast this morning, and then I was walking down a hall eating it, trying to find Webbie. It's kind of boring being cooped up in the manor so much since Scrooge is so busy this time of year, but I found Webbie and after I finished my breakfast we went and played a normal game of catch. Well, Webbie normal. But I was smiling and laughing with her like I can do things. Maybe this is my chance to figure out who I am. I know one thing about myself so far. I really like Webbie. She's funny and smart and kinda weird but in the best way. By the best way I mean, she'll decapitate anyone who hurts her friends and family. Something I can admire. I don't even know exactly what to think about this breath of fresh air, and I,m still really tired for all the worrying and all the not sleeping and all the worrisome things I have done or thought about doing, but it all seems so far away today, and at least for now that's where I hope it stays. I want some time to enjoy the people around me and the world I live in. I looked up at the sky today and it was a light crystal blue, and it made me so happy. That colour is so pretty. I really don't enjoy the colour blue enough for how much I wear it. The tree bark is the most wonderful shade of brown, too! It's dusty but not so much so that it's unpleasant to look at. The carpet in this mansion is a deep red that I've realized is beautiful. I just can see so many things now that I didn't when I was focused on my troubles and all that stuff! I've never noticed before how much Mrs. Beakley takes care of the house, and us, behind the scenes. I thanked her for patching up a scraped arm when I was playing with Webbie, and she just smiled and told me it was her job. Despite her nonchalant answer, I could tell she liked it that I thanked her, and knowing that she liked it made me feel good, so I think I'm going to do that more often. It just makes sense. Maybe I can have other people help me when I'm not doing too great, like I can thank people and then they'll smile and then I will feel a little better. I just have to make sure I'm paying attention when they smile. I think Louie must have figured out that I wasn't doing well, because when he saw me today, playing and laughing with Webbie, he gave me this huge grin. I bet that Huey told him. I guess I don't care. It's not a terrible idea to let tell them when I feel bad. I guess I'll also have to do this. I did Scrooge's breathing more, too. It still doesn't help much, but I think it's helping more. I do feel better, after all.

That was one loooooong paragraph, so I think I'll sign off for tonight, but thank you guys, my readers. Even if no one is actually out there, I think doing this helped. I guess... maybe this is goodbye? I'll miss it, but trust me, it's better this way. I hope I meet everyone who was reading these posts, or will read these posts, sometime in my life.

Dewey felt a tears well up in his eyes as he hit post. The final time. It was freeing, though. He took a long, deep, belly breath and smiled. Real smiled.

"Hey Dew! You look happy!" Louie said, climbing up onto the bed next to him.

"I... I think I am, Louie. For real." Louie smiled.

"I'm glad, buddy. I was getting worried about you. You've got to tell me if you feel like this ever again, okay? I- we need to know these things."

"Okay," Dewey nodded, and Louie hugged him in an uncharacteristic show of wild emotion.

"Good. Now, me, Huey, Webbie, and Launchpad are doing a DW marathon in the tv room. Wanna come?" Dewey nodded enthusiastically and followed Louie to the tv room, where he squeezed onto the couch beside Webbie.

"Hey Webs!" he greeted her, grinning.

"Hey!" She smiled back.

Dewey looked to the huge tv, where the opening scene of the poilet of Darkwing Duck was playing. Launchpad was grinning more than Dewey had ever seen him before, even when he decided he liked being a mole person. Dewey smiled again, leaning his head back against the cushions. Maybe it was all over, finally.

**A/N: It's not over.**


	9. July 1st, 2018

July 1st, 2018

Hi... Hello again, readers. I know it's been a while. A very, very, very long while. I wonder if you guys have been wondering about me sometimes, but wonder no longer. It's back. All the pressure from myself, all the problems, all the everything. I've already let Louie and Huey know, but I gotta vent. I'm scared again. Living in this constant state of fear. I feel like everyone's watching me, waiting for me to make a bad move. I know that they're not. I know they love me. I know, but I can't feel it. I should probably not start this whole thing back up again, but oh my goodness I don't know what I would do without it. I'm not sleeping again. The bugs crawling around on my skin are keeping me up, along with a terror embedded in my very soul of the nightmares that might awaken with this new wave of anxieties. I can't eat, can't sleep, can't even think. And it's been so long since I've written one of these that I'm not sure how much I'll be able to clearly express what I mean through words anymore. My mind clearly isn't functioning at it's highest potential.

Last night I tried to run away, but Mrs. Beakley caught me. She told me I was letting my imagination get the better of me, and that I just needed to sleep. But she hasn't seen the terrors that I have. I know she's made of diamonds, but I'm not sure if she would be able to sleep either. Right before I went to bed yesterday, I could've sworn I heard a ladybug howl my name at the moon. When I went to investigate, I nearly fell out of my window. I don't really know what's going on anymore. I just know it isn't good. I mean, I'm scared all the time. That's not healthy.

I am happy-ish, though. My life is pretty good right now. I promised Webbie that I'd play with her tomorrow, and even though I think she actually just wants to interrogate me, it's nice that she wants to get closer to me than with my brothers. I like having something to keep me separate from them in someone else's mind. For my whole life I've been lumped together with them and it's always bothered me. But being something different to someone who isn't in my family, that will be really really nice. I feel like I need to be different somehow, in a good way, not just in the crazy way that I already am.

Louie's coming back up to our room, and I still want to keep this a secret, so I guess I'll catch you guys later.

Dewey looked up from his phone to find Louie's face in his. He cringed a little internally, but managed to keep his face straight as Louie looked him directly in the eye, way too close.

"Hey... Louie? Whatcha lookin' for?" Dewey asked his brother, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing, nothing," Louie assured him, smiling. Dewey shrugged. Fair enough, he guessed.

"Okay. Why are you up this late, anyway? I've never seen you out of bed past nine."

"Oh, just... nothing."

"Come on Louie, tell me!"

"I was just..." He trailed off, blushing hotly. Dewey looked at him, wide eyed. Whatever this was, it must me interesting. He had never seen Louie blush before, not even when Donald was embarrassing them in front of the girl who he had claimed to like in the second grade. Dewey had never really believed he had actually liked the girl he said he did, but that was another story for another time. Louie looked at him, still blushing, and not missing a beat said: "I have to go to bathroom!" He climbed down the ladder faster than Dewey could shout for him to wait, and was gone in less than five seconds. Dewey had never seen him so motivated to move. This had to be the most interesting piece of information Louie had ever withheld from him. Dewey climbed down the ladder, almost as fast, chasing after his brother on light feet. Maybe following him would do some good.

Dewey chased Louie all through out the house, without Louie ever knowing he was there. Strangely enough, it looked like Louie was using evasive maneuvers even though Dewey knew almost for sure Louie didn't know he was there. Louie walked around in circles so many times Dewey was nearly tricked. He was about to give up when Louie finally broke the pattern and took off running, silently, somehow, through out the mansion until he stopped at an open window that sat next to a tree. He climbed out the window, into the tree, and turned around to shimmy down the tree. His eyes widened in shock as he saw Dewey standing there, outlined in the pale bit of moonlight that shone down through the window.

"Dewey?!" He whispered harshly, frowning.

"Louie!" Dewey whispered back. "What are you doing?"

"It's nothing! Just go to sleep!" Louie whispered back at him.

"No! I actually can't, but also no! Tell me what's going on, and then I'll leave you alone."

"Well... I guess it's easier if I just show you. It's a little hard to explain," Louie whispered, and Dewey nodded. "Follow me."

Dewey followed him through the night as they climbed down the tree outside the window, walked through a field, walked across a few dark city streets in the poorer part of Duckburg, and finally arrived at the Drake family mansion. The night was warm, but Dewey was pretty sure it wasn't so hot that it would cause a mirage of this proportion. He turned to Louie, still confused.

"What are we doing... here?" Dewey asked.

"You'll see, you'll see," Louie assured him, and buzzed the intercom. "Doofus, it's Louie. Open up, dork." He said into the mic, and a soft noise of appreciation emanated from the speaker. The iron gates opened swiftly and Louie grabbed Dewey's hand and rushed him inside before the gates could close on them.


	10. July 2nd, 2018

Dewey looked at the mansion's lawn sprawling in front of them. The grass was emerald and cleanly manicured with a mower. He shivered, despite the summer night air on his feathers. Louie looked at him, asking with his eyes if Dewey was okay. He nodded, then smiled. Or smiled as much as he could. They walked together into the mansion proper, the huge house seeming to shimmer when they entered, as if the place was part of an all together different world.

"My precious Llewellyn," Doofus Drake said, appearing from nowhere. "How nice to see you again. And what's this? You brought a plus one. All the more to make a merry party, I suppose. This time," he hissed, narrowing his eyes at Louie. Louie stood stick straight, a way too wide smile creeping across his face.

"Yeah, yeah, I won't bring anyone next time, whatever." Louie shrugged. "Can we just get this over with? I still need to sleep tonight." Dewey looked from Doofus to Louie quickly. He wore the frown of a lifetime.

"Oh, you didn't tell poor Dewford here what's going on, did you?" Doofus smirked, slowly licking a lollie that seemingly came out of nowhere.

"Eh, he'll get it soon enough," Louie said, and Doofus snorted. "Seriously, let's just have the dumb ball and get it over with."

Doofus nodded, smiling in the way that he did, and offered Louie his hand. Louie took it, his grasp gentle, and beckoned for Dewey to follow them. They walked to a large room not too far away from the lobby where they had stood. It looked like a ballroom. It was empty, except for some decorations. Despite himself, Dewey's mouth dropped open in awe, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Louie do the same. The ceiling was painted black and covered in millions of fairy lights, all brilliant gold, and they shined like stars across the summer sky, but so much brighter. The walls were decked with gold streamers and banners, and the floor was a soft burnished white-gold tile. Doofus smiled at Louie.

"Doofus... this is..." Louie breathed, trailing off into oblivion.

"I'm glad you like it, my Llewellyn. May I have this dance?" He asked, and Dewey gasped as Louie nodded. They began to dance, tango really, and Dewey just watched, his eyes wide and glittering with the light from above. It was almost magical to watch, almost hypnotizing the way they swayed. Their grace was unparalleled to anything Dewey had seen in his young life, except for maybe that one time when Webbie had spontaneously started ballet dancing to distract a Beagle Boy so Dewey could whop him over the head with a chair so they could escape. But this... this had a charm all its own. The way their movements perfectly complimented each other's, the way they seemed to know exactly what the other was going to do, or where their feet would be, before he even did it. To Dewey, who had no dance experience, it looked like magic. And it was, to some extent. It was Louie's and Doofus's art, and art is magic. After a final dramatic movement, they finished, freezing in place for a moment, then letting each other go and bowing. Dewey, released from the dance's spell, began to clap enthusiastically.

"Oh my good, guys! I'm still so confused but that was like, amazing! I didn't know you could dance like that, Louie!" He exclaimed, his eyes still shining.

"Yeah, it's kind of a secret."

"Are you gonna tell the poor child what's going on?" Doofus asked, Dewey frowned.

"I'm older than Louie by fourty eight minutes!" He shouted, but Louie wasn't paying attention. His gaze was still held by Doofus, and there was some kind of light Dewey had never seen before in his eyes. Louie shook his head after a second, and looked to Dewey.

"I-I... I love to dance!" Louie exclaimed, his cheeks bright red. "I'm pretty good too. Doofus saw that yesterday, when we were having our only child day. He's the only other person I know in my height group who loves to tango as much as I do, so he's actually helping me enter a competition. I... I really want to be a dancer when I grow up. I love it so much... I can't imagine a life without dancing in it." Dewey grin at his brother, then ran up to hug him tightly.

"That's wonderful!" Dewey said, still grinning, and released him. Dewey turned to Doofus. "And I guess thanks. For helping Louie." Doofus simply nodded, smirking.

"Can I go now, Doofus? I promise I can stay longer next time, but I want to sleep now. I need to get Dewey back home so he can sleep." At the last word, Louie looked to Dewey and glared. Doofus nodded again. "Thanks," Louie said, and grabbed Dewey's hand, running away as fast as he could, brother in tow.

They stopped running after they got off the Drake mansion grounds, and Louie actually walked slower than normal it seemed. His eyes were cloudy, but his bill was upturned in such a way that made Dewey wonder if there was a little more than an innocent tango going on, at least in Louie's heart, but then Dewey realized: since when were tangos innocent?

"Louie...?" He asked, but no one answered. He didn't try to ask again, and so they walked back to the McDuck manor in silence. When they got there, Louie seemed to have been released from his daze. They helped each other back up the tree and through the window. Louie looked at him and whispered.

"Dew, you gotta go to bed. I can see how tired you are everyday. If you don't want Webbie to know, really try as hard as you can to go to bed." Dewey nodded and then Louie was off, into the night again. Dewey frowned at his back, wondering where he was going because they slept in the same room, but didn't bother to follow or shout after him. Dewey wandered back to their room, still in a little bit of shock after finding out that Louie had a secret nighttime routine now. He shook it off and repeated Louie's last words to himself under his breath as he lay in bed, waiting for the night to end. Waiting, just waiting for the morning sun to smear her glow all over the world so he could maybe breathe again.


	11. July 10th, 2018

July 10th, 2018

I keep telling myself I'm gonna be okay like that changes something. I keep smiling, but it doesn't help when the dark likes to rip your own smile off your face and wear it like a mask, smothering every good feeling having even a very fake smile was giving you. Telling yourself you're gonna be okay because that's what you thought you were gonna be doesn't help when every single person on this earth likes to look at you in a way you know isn't very serious, sometimes they even laugh but your brain turns it into a threat, like they're about to pull your heart out. They'd tie you to a table, cut the switch knife into your chest, break the ribs, and steal your heart. Literally. It's a big, irrational fear of mine, and I can't even sleep anymore because that's a thing that's going on in my brain now. I haven't slept for more than three hours within a day since June. I know, it's only ten days but I am losing my god-freaking mind. And I know I could tell Scrooge. Not could, even, I really should. I need to. I should at least tell Huey or Louie or both of them. But I can't. I can't spit the words out I can't get them to work like English is failing me. Maybe I need to learn another language. Maybe I need to shout from the rooftops that I am not okay. Let all of Duckburg know. At least I would know there's no hope of escape if a whole city is trying to steal my heart, rather than just one or two people. One or two people, I'd get away and live in even worse paranoia than I already do until I decide to die when I'm twenty five. A whole city, I'm dead before I turn twelve and I don't have to live in fear anymore. I wouldn't have to live at all. That would be nice. I could float among the clouds. Maybe I'd even see mom.

Speaking of stealing hearts, I think mine has been metaphorically taken from my rib cage. It actually kind of hurts. Like, physically it hurts. I want to see her all the time. I want to be with her every second of everyday. I don't know how my mind finds time to worry constantly and also be in constant pain from this whole love deal. Maybe I'm secretly a genius, and this mortal coil is just slowing me down. Maybe I should go lie down, because that sounds crazy and egotistical, but I don't know why now would be the time I would get to sleep instead of literally any time else when I'm actually trying to go to bed. Anyway, that was off topic. I'm in love with this girl. She's so... cool. I don't know how to describe it quite right, but she's like the world's most capable ten year old. She's insane, too, but not in my way, she's like so dangerous. She's Webbie. It's the only way to describe her quite right. Webbie. Grandkid of a spy (probably a spy, anyway) and housekeeper (not secretary). She's wonderful.

I should go to bed. I need to go to bed. So I guess this is goodbye for awhile, until I figure out how to make my body go to sleep. I want sleep so bad, but I know it's not coming. Have a good day, "readers," and don't die.

Dewey pushed post and immediately threw his phone down onto his mattress. It was time to sleep. He lay down, closed his eyes, and tried to release himself into the darkness that lay beyond his mind. Tried, tried so hard to figure out what was going wrong. Tried to tire himself out enough so he would have to go to bed. Tried everything. Tried his breathing exercises. Tried tying his mind to something so un-him it was funny. The moon. He focused on the moon. Tried to tell himself that maybe someone was up there. Maybe there was a whole civilization of people, just sitting up there. Maybe they were going to invade the earth and cause an apocalypse of terrible proportions! No, no. He shut his mind up, or at least the part of his mind that worried about that sort of thing. He didn't need that when he was trying to sleep. He didn't need that when he wasn't trying to sleep. Also, the probability of that actually happening was very, very small. He knew there was something just past his mind that if he got to, then he would sleep. That's what sleep was. The place you went when you need to stop for a few hours, needed to rest. Sleep was the rest stop of life buried in all the butterflies and darkness and moonlight it could be. Maybe for some people it was less buried. He had once seen Huey fall asleep in less than a minute. He wasn't even that tired. Just very motivated to go to sleep. But Dewey wanted sleep now more than almost everything. He wanted it now just a little less than he wanted to hold Webbie's hand, and that was a lot. Maybe he should focus on Webbie. Sometimes focusing on good, comforting things helped him get to bed. He focused on all the little brushes, all the smallest hugs they had shared through out their time knowing each other. He knew she was very sweet, and perhaps just liked hugging people, but he also knew they had hugged a lot. Maybe they were just closer than her and his brothers. Maybe. He almost hoped.

Dewey opened his eyes. This was doing no good. He resigned himself to another night of pure blackness and no sleep or dreams. He left himself to float along the stream of consciousness.

**A/N: Sorry it's a little short, guys. I'm very very tired.**


	12. August 9th, 2018

Dewey stared at the blank phone screen in front of him. His hand tightened around it, as if it were the only thing keeping him from jumping into the deep end. Sometimes it was, he thought, and frowned. He couldn't get any words to come out. It's like they had all just... evaporated. It was a weird, empty feeling. Dewey tried to shrug it off, tried to shake it out, but he couldn't. All his words were gone, apparently. He would have to find something else to do. He sat up and climbed down the ladder, leaving his phone to lay on his bed, all alone. He trotted out into the hall, and glanced both ways. Empty. He was already bored. Maybe he could find Webbie and hang out with her. Well, she would probably end up finding him first, but that was no matter. As long as they were together, he thought, then facepalmed. He wasn't supposed to think like that. He didn't really understand why he was so... blegh towards her. So happy when he was with her. But it was one of the few times he could... forget. So he walked around the house, searching every corridor, every nook and cranny. Even the pantry. Even Scrooge's private washroom. But he didn't see anyone. Not even Scrooge, not even his brothers. He stopped in front of the mansion's front doors, and frowned. Where in the world could they be? They wouldn't have left him alone. Probably. But what of they did? What if they hated him now, what if he had done something terrible? Unforgivable? Maybe he murdered everyone and then he was in such a state of shock he had completely blocked every moment of that day out of his mind.

He shook his head. This was weird, but maybe nothing bad had happened. But something bad had to have happened, every part of his body told him. Maybe they were all waiting for him outside. Maybe it was his and his brothers' birthdays and they were throwing a surprise party and he was the last to get outside. He turned around and tried to open the doors. Locked. He didn't have a key, either. A shiver ran up his spine. His mind screamed at him, look behind you, it pleaded. But that was his panic talking, he was sure. These doors were locked. He tried again, tried to break the lock. He wasn't strong enough. Look behind you. He couldn't stop himself. He turned around. There was nothing. Of course, it really was just his panic. He wished he didn't listen to it so much. Then he felt a sharp pain in his back.

"Finally," A raspy voice he recognized from somewhere he couldn't quite place said. "Together, forever." Dewey fell onto the owner of the voice's feet. Dewey's glazed over eyes stared up into the voice's, which were completely black. The man had grey feathers. He realized why he knew the man's voice. His head hurt a lot. "Finally," the man echoed until Dewey blacked out.

Dewey woke up screaming. He heaved for breath, then started screaming again. He screamed until his voice was hoarse. Then he stopped. There was so much panic in his heart, though. Why was there a long plastic tube taped to his hand? It kind of hurt. He wondered what would happen if he took it out. He probably shouldn't. He shook his head, trying to clear enough room so he could think. He closed his eyes for a minute, then opened them again and took a cursory glance around the room. It was mostly white, with baby blue accents. It was... disgustingly sterile. It made him want to throw up. He didn't, but he really wanted to. Dewey shivered. It was also cold. He must be under an air vent of something. The door opened, and Huey, Louie, Donald, and Scrooge stepped inside the room he was in.

"Dewey!" Huey shouted, running over to his brother's bedside. Louie followed him closely, his eyes bloodshot. He had clearly been crying. "Thank goodness you're awake!"

"Bless me bagpipes lad, you gave me a scare," Scrooge said, walking over to the other side of Dewey's bed. Donald stood in the doorway, just smiling. He looked like he had been brought back to life from the bags under his eyes.

"Hey... Where's Webbie... and the other lady... um, you know...?" Dewey asked, his brain stuttering. He couldn't really get his words... or anything at all around the thick wad of cotton in his mind. Even his vision was a little too fuzzy.

"They're not allowed in yet. It's only biological family for now, sadly," Huey said, patting Dewey's shoulder gently. Dewey groaned.

"I just... wait, what happened to me?"

"You were passed out when I found you," Louie said. "Hanging off the top bunk of your bed. I heard your phone had fall to the ground, and went to investigate, because lately you've been holding onto that thing like it's a life rope."

"Then he came and told me, and not one of us could wake you. So we took you to the hospital." Scrooge said, sighing heavily. "It's been a hard week, lad."

"What?" Dewey asked faintly. "Week?" They all nodded.

"The doctors told us that you passed out from lack of sleep, and we were lucky we decided to bring you here. You could've died, Dewey," Huey said, and his normally blue-clad brother looked him in the eyes. Huey looked like he was about to start crying, and Dewey felt a few tears roll off his own cheeks. He felt a storm of tears coming, and all of a sudden he was sobbing. He was crying so hard, the heaves of breath he took rocked his body. He ached for something different than this. Something better than what he had right now. His heart needed all the sunlight it could get, from now on, he thought. Seeing Dewey crying so hard made Louie cry again. His tears were gentler, but still so forceful he had to sit down just to breath right.

"I'm so sorry," Dewey gasped out in between sobs. "I'm so so so sorry. I can't..." Dewey stopped to wipe the tears off his face. "I can't make what I did okay, I don't think. I should've told someone. I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," Donald said, his eyes gleaming with unshod tears. "We all make mistakes sometimes." Huey and Louie nodded. Scrooge glared at Dewey.

"No, I think the lad's right, Donald. He should have told someone. He knows he can confide in me."

"that doesn't matter right now, guys," Louie said, glaring at the both of them. "What matters is that Dewey is alright and we can all breathe easy." Scrooge rolled his eyes and nodded.

"I hate it when someone's so right I can't disagree with them," he said, then smiled. "I am very happy to see you're okay, Dewey, mind you." Dewey smiled faintly. He just wanted to get rid of this headache and get rid of his problems and see Webbie. There was a knock at the door, which Donald opened.

"Hello McDuck and Duck family," a short duck in scrubs greeted them, a bright smile on her face. "I'm gonna need you all to leave for a few minutes while I talk to Dewey here, and make sure his vitals are all a-o-kay. You can bring the friends in when I'm done, okay?" Scrooge nodded and they all left. "Hey Dewey, how are you feeling?" The nurse asked him, still smiling.

"Uh, I just woke up, like, a minute ago. I don't really know. Weird. I feel weird." The nurse nodded .

"Well, I'm glad to see that you're up. That's usually a really good sign. Now, I just have to check your vitals," she said, going over to a monitor that he hadn't noticed there before and typing in a password, then writing some numbers down on a notepad.

"How am I doing?" He found himself asking.

"Good, I assure you. You will probably get to go home in the next two to three days." Dewey groaned internally. He didn't want to be in a hospital for longer than a day, much less eleven days, even if he hadn't been conscious for most of it. All the sterile, clinical-y-ness of it made him want to die. The nurse said bye to him and walked out. Before the door had completely shut, Webbie was in his room, running around to his bedside, as close as she could get without messing with the tube in his hand or anything like that. Just seeing her made the room brighter.

"Hey Webs." He said, his voice suddenly hoarse. He sounded weak even to his own ears.

"Dewey!" Webbie exclaimed, her eyes shining. "I can't believe... any of this..." she said, her voice getting softer the more she spoke. "How are you?"

"I'm... good," he said, for her sake. She growled at him, her eyes growing dark.

"See, this is your problem! You're too worried about all of us to care anything about yourself! Tell me how you really feel!" She demanded, and Dewey winced. "I'm sorry," she said instantly, clamping a tiny hand over her mouth. Dewey shook his head as much as he could without giving himself more of a head ache.

"No, no. You're actually right. I need to start being more honest about how I am. I feel... like death. I want death. I'm disoriented. My head hurts every time I move. Talking is a nightmare. I feel like there's wool stuffed up my beak all the way into my brain. It's terrible. I want to sleep but I also know I've spent a week sleeping because before that I spent thirty three days sleeping for five hours or less a night, and some night I didn't sleep at all. I feel like I'm falling apart. I'm so scared, Webbie. I'm terrified. My eyes are so tired that I'm scared they'll fall out. I feel like I have bugs crawling all over my body. I don't know what to do. I've been like this for most of the time I've known you, so you don't know, but I wanted to tell you so badly. I wanted to tell anyone. I needed to tell someone. But I couldn't I couldn't get my mind to work long enough to have a rational train of thought that would convey that I need so much freaking help." Dewey almost broke down over the last sentence, almost stopped speaking and started crying, but he made himself power through it. He had to survive. He frantically breathed in, his breaths short and shallow. His heart was beating way too fast for this. He need something, anything to think about other than what he was. Webbie spoke, which was good enough for the moment. He focused on the smooth cadence of her voice, the way she pronounced all her words like she loved them.

"I... didn't know at all. I can't believe I didn't see it. I can't believe I didn't know. I'm sorry you had to go through this alone, Dewey. I promise from now on, I'm going to help you, alright? Even when no one else has the time or energy or your trust, I'm gonna be there for you. I promise," Webbie said, and Dewey smiled at her.

"Thanks Webbie. You make me feel like maybe everything's gonna be alright." Webbie smiled softly, in a very Webbie way to smile, and took his non-tubed hand in hers.

**A/N: Hospital scenes are always so enchanting to write for me.**


	13. August 10th, 2018

Dewey woke up the next day with the worst headache he had ever had. He was still in the same bright white hospital room but today it was too bright, too white. Looking at it hurt his eyes, so he closed them, but the darkness amplified the sharp ringing in his head to the point where he felt like he was going to throw up. He tried to sit up, but that introduced a new kind of pain in his head, the kind that made him feel like his head was being sawed in half by a laser beam. There was a loud knock at the door and he visibly flinched before softly telling the person they could come in.

"Hello lad," Scrooge said a little too loud, walking into the room. Dewey cringed, grabbing his head. Scrooge looked surprised for a moment, but then his gaze softened to a bittersweet smile.

"Not that loud, please, uncle Scrooge," Dewey nearly whispered.

"Okay," Scrooge said, matching his nephew's volume. "Listen my boy, and listen well. Me and Donald talked to a doctor who also specializes in pediatric psychology, and we've decided it would be safest for you to live in the hospital's mental ward for a week and see what happens. Now, before you say anything, you know this is truly what I believe would be the best because I'll be paying for it, and I would'na pay for it if I didn't think that." Dewey gave the smallest nod he could. This was going to be terrible, he thought,but he also wanted to believe that maybe it wouldn't. Maybe it would be great.

Scrooge nodded back at, smiled once more as if to say "I love you," and walked out of the room, leaving him to lay in boredom until he fell back to sleep. He vaguely wondered where his brothers were but they were probably just busy. Probably. He was too tired to be catastrophizing.

When Dewey woke up again, Launchpad was standing at the foot of his bed. His enormous headache was gone, to be replaced by a faint sense of grogginess he didn't quite mind.

"Hey Launchpad, what's up?" Launchpad jumped when he spoke, then ran over to his side and hugged him.

"Oh thank god you're alive Dewey! I thought maybe I was too late, and something terrible happened." Dewey laughed.

"Something terrible did happen, that's why I'm here." He replied.

"Oh my god you're right! What happened?" Dewey almost laughed again before he saw the very serious expression on his friend's face.

"I…" He took a deep breath. He didn't realize how hard telling people that he had been hospitalized for something that sounded like carelessness would be. "I almost died of sleep deprivation." Launchpad stared at him for a moment, then shrugged.

"Well, you're my best friend, so next time you need something, call me," the pelicanesque duck said, then smiled at him. "Have a great day! I'll see you soon!" And then he walked out. Dewey smiled at Launchpad's back. His unfailing optimism was refreshing. After Launchpad left, he was alone again for another half hour, before his brothers and Webbie came running in. There was a nurse chasing after them, and Louie was soaking wet, but as soon as they stepped inside the room they all burst out laughing, and the nurse was nowhere to be seen. Dewey found himself smiling at his brothers and Webbie, and despite everything, it was a real smile.

"What just happened to you guys?" Dewey asked, still grinning.

"We just had to see you!" Webbie exclaimed.

"Scrooge forbid us from visiting you today, but we escaped. He said you needed rest," Huey exclaimed.

"But we couldn't wait. None of ever want to go a day without seeing you," Louie said, in an unusual turn of sentimental words. Louie smiled though, and Dewey smiled back. But then he remembered. He was going to the mental ward. His face fell.

"What is it Dewey?" Webbie asked, her eyes glowing.

"I actually need to tell you guys something... Well, two things," he said, suddenly remembering the note from mom. He should tell them about that... just in case something happened to him. "First, Scrooge came to visit me this morning. He told me... he said I would be in the psych ward here for about a week because the doctor said that was the safest place for me to be. They're not gonna let me outside, and they're gonna take away my phone, but I'll write letters to you every day." He took a breath to let the news sink in. They all looked at him with wide eyes.

"I guess, that'll be okay. As long as... as long as we can still talk to you. We'll write letters back, I promise!" Webbie said, her eyes watery. "But it'll be okay." Huey and Louie nodded.

"Second, I... I should tell you guys," he said, gesturing to his brothers, "about a note me and Webbie found a few months ago. It was from..." he took a deep breath. This stress couldn't be good, but it was even worse the longer he kept it from his brothers. "Mom. I kept it a secret because I wanted to feel special, but-" he choked on a sob. Huey and Louie looked at him with open beaks and raised eyebrows. He couldn't tell how they felt yet. "But I realized after what happened to me that that doesn't matter at all anymore. I don't need to feel special, I need you guys and your love. So I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." Webbie looked at him incredulously, but like she was also proud. Dewey was just crying now, just breaking down in front of their eyes. Huey and Louie looked at each other.

"I... don't know what to say. Dew, that isn't right," was all Huey said. But Louie just looked at him, with those big puppy eyes that told the whole story.

"Listen, Huey, Louie, I can't survive without you guys. Webbie can fill you in on what little we found while I'm gone. But I need you. Please don't be mad at me." Huey nodded but Louie stood silently, still staring at Dewey. Finally, he sighed.

"I can't stay mad at you when you need me so much. And I'm glad you finally told us. But... I need some time. I'll still send you letters, I promise. Just know I'm not happy with you," Louie said, and Dewey nodded.

"Thank you for your forgiveness... or almost forgiveness," Dewey breathed. His voice was so gentle, so soft that all of them ran over to hug him tightly, even Louie. None of them dared breath for fear of ruining the moment that they held between them, the fragile butterflies of their hearts somehow all becoming one for a mere moment. A sharp squeak sounded, startling them from their huddle. They all stood nervously as if they had been doing something terrible. Donald frowned at them from the doorway, his hands on his hips.

"What did I tell you guys about visiting Dewey today? He needs to rest," Their uncle said, but Dewey just giggled, despite the heavy things that had just been said.

"I'm okay today, uncle Donald!" Donald's eyes lit up at Dewey's voice, and he smiled despite himself. He ran into the room and hugged Dewey tightly.

"I'm so glad to see you, Dewey."

"I'm glad to see you too, uncle Donald." Dewey smiled. He truely was happy to see his uncle. In all this chaos, both inside and outside of his mind, he sometimes forgot how much Donald meant to him. He had taken care of Dewey and his brothers for so long, still did in some ways. There was another knock on the door, this one gentler than the others. The door opened swiftly and Scrooge stepped into the room.

"I know I told everyone to let you rest, Dewe-" Scrooge stopped and stared at the crowd of family. "Bless me bagpipes boy, we all love you too much I suppose."

"I would do the same for any of you," Dewey said, then laughed. For real. It was infectious, it seemed and within a minute even Scrooge had given a slight chuckle.


	14. August 11th, 2018 (Part I)

**A/N: Happy Ducktales reboot aniversary everyone! In this fic's timeline, it's also been exactly a year since Dewey wrote his first entry, so that's cool!**

Dewey was kind of freaking out. It was night, pitch black, and he could feel his every breath. There was something disturbing about that thought. He didn't want to feel his every breath. He didn't want to be aware that he wasn't asleep like he should be. The medication they gave him should work, it had been working since he had come here. He need to go to bed, that was the point of everything. To sleep. But it was dark and he was scared and nothing seemed to feel right. He tossed and turned, trying to find something, anything that made him feel alright but comfort had escaped.

By morning, he was exhausted.

The nurse came in, took one look at him, and walked back out. He sighed, somehow knowing what was coming. An interrogation. He was right, because soon enough the most in charge-looking woman in white he had ever seen walked into his room, her dress shoes clicking on the tile floors. She was tall and pretty, with dark wavy hair and chocolate feathers. She frowned at him, like how Donald would when he was five and cut his feathers off with the first pair of scissors he got his hands on.

"So, how are you feeling today Mr. Duck?" She asked him, and he groaned.

"I'm tired."

"I can tell. I can assume you did not sleep last night?" He shook his head and sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said, and the woman raised her eye brows.

"It's not your fault, Mr. Duck. We just need to up your dosage, it seems." He nodded and she walked out, leaving him to sit in silence.

It was so quiet. Even in his head, which usually buzzed with energy and paranoia, especially paranoia, after he didn't sleep, was quiet. It was almost unnerving, after ten-ish years of constant stress to his head to not hear a peep. His anxiety wasn't going. His fears about other people weren't shouting at the tops of their lungs. He let himself enjoy the peacefulness for a little while, just sitting in silence and thinking. Considering all the things he wanted to do when he really thought about it. When he didn't feel held back by fears, he realized he actually had time to think about what he wanted, not just what his anxiety needed to keep him afloat. He wondered if he plunged himself into a world where he was just constantly anxious, a reality where he was constantly awkward and afraid, if he just gave up on trying to preserve the image other people had of him, would he feel better? Obviously, there would be a steep learning curve, where he would be a constant mess, but after that? Would he feel free and good and alive for once? Or would he just keep being a mess like he always was? He sat and thought of things like these for hours on end. There seemed simply nothing else to do. After all, the wouldn't let him get up and do things since he hadn't slept last night. He let the quietness simply settle. Let himself get used to it. It would be gone by tomorrow, he was sure, but maybe not. Maybe there was something to this silence.

Thank goodness Webbie had come to see him. He was getting so very bored, and she was smiling summer-bright, looking into his eyes like he was something to be proud of. Like all his weaknesses were just another part of him, like they didn't define him. She made him feel okay.

"How do you feel today, Dewey?" Webbie asked him.

"I feel… like there's something wrong with me." Dewey said, sighing softly. She hugged him tightly, and all of a sudden.

"I'm no licensed therapist," she said, letting go. "But I have completed the first year curriculum with straight As, so I think I have a right to say that there is nothing wrong with you." Dewey smiled at her.

"That's nice…" he trailed off. His eyes burned with tears he didn't want to cry. "I'm sorry Webbie, I know you're trying to be helpful. I just don't know how to be helped."

"Yeah… There's a reason I didn't pursue more psych education."

"No, my point is there is something wrong with me!" He shouted, then jerked out of her arms. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell."

"It's okay, I'm sure you're very sick of being cooped up here," she said, then smiled at him. "But I brought card games!" Dewey shook his head.

"Webbiegail, you beautiful genius!" He exclaimed, this time very much meaning to yell, then grinned. "Let's break out," he said, significantly softer.

"What? I don't think that's a very good idea, Dewey. I mean, you don't have an IV anymore, but they're sending you to a mental ward, remember? Because it'll be for the best?" She said, but he could see the gleam in her eyes.

"I know, I know, even Scrooge thinks so, but is it really for the best if I always feel like I'm sicker when I'm here? I'm always on the brink of throwing up from all this white, and I need to use my legs. And see the sun. I need the forest and the nature and I need the sky so bad it hurts. This room has no windows, and it definitely doesn't have the sun. Especially when you're not here," he added, smiling softly at Webbie. She smiled back, then looked at him more seriously.

"I can break you out, but I need to know something. Are you completely sure this is the best path for you?" He nodded, and she smiled. "Okay, let's do this! I knew you must be feeling better!" He grinned at her, and thought he would very much like to believe that the fact he felt like escaping meant he was getting better. Maybe it did, who knew? "Okay, Dewey, there's an air vent right over your bed that both of us fit through. We'll go through that, then find an exit that's close to an elevator. We'll come out of there, go down the elevator to the second floor, find the window by the tree out front that I see every time we drive here, and climb down it. Got it?" He nodded, and she grinned. "Let's go!"


	15. August 11th, 2018 (Part II)

They were in the air vents. It was metallic and freezing cold, especially since Dewey had spent the past few days under warm blankets, but somehow this felt so much better than that. He was with Webbie on an adventure. The only thing that might be better than that is if everyone were here, but only Webbie and him was still pretty good. Scratch that, it was great. They crawled along, Webbie occasionally looking through the vent openings to see if they were close enough to the elevator to get out. They were mostly silent, too, so it was almost awkward. Dewey let out a soft sigh.

"So, in all this craziness I haven't been able to ask you how you are," he said softly, because they needed to be quiet. She nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I mean, you know how I am. You know." Silence fell once more. Maybe she didn't want to talk, he thought. Maybe she hated him and was simply pretending to like him. She hadn't actually said anything directly like "I like like you too." But then again, neither had he. So far, it had been some kind of unspoken magic between them. He loved it with all his heart, and he wasn't sure he was ever brave enough to make it anything more. But he pushed that thought out of his head. It didn't matter right now. Right now, he was with her and they were getting out and after that they would figure out whatever they needed to.

"Hey! We got a match!" Webbie whispered, already popping the vent cover out of it's place. "Come on!" She climbed down to the floor, which luckily wasn't too far from the exit of the vent, then helped Dewey down.

"Thanks," he said, and Webbie grinned at him, then ran over to the elevator and hit the down button. It dinged within a few seconds, thankfully before anyone was able to find them, and they walked in, Dewey hitting the Floor Two button as hard as he could. The doors slid closed, silent but somehow full of white noise in the way that only machines are. Webbie fell to the ground laughing so hard that she started wheezing.

"I can't believe..." she heaved, "we're actually doing this!" Dewey took one look at her, and cracked up, falling to the ground next to her. He nodded through his giggles. There was something so perfect about this moment, something so euphoric that neither of them noticed when the doors opened because they were just that happy. Webbie sat up, finally done laughing, even though her eyes were still watery, and Grabbed Dewey's hand, yanking him up too. Then she started running, and wouldn't let go of his hand, so he had to start running too.

"Webbie! Isn't this just gonna draw more attention to us and the fact that we're escaping?" Dewey nearly yelled.

"Yeah, but this is way more fun!" She shouted back, smiling at him. "And fun is the best way to bring someone back to life!" Dewey couldn't help but smile back at her. He had never seen so much color in her cheeks or sparkle in her eyes. They ran, and they got a few confused looks from people around, but luckily no one from Dewey's floor seemed to be there right now. Webbie dashed into an open office and shut the door after pulling Dewey inside with her.

"This is it, boys, the final challenge. Can we scale a tree?" Dewey snorted.

"I can do this in the dark," he said, then proceeded to go over to the window, open it, and climb down the tree with more than a little ease.

"Wow, how'd you learn to do that so well? I mean, I only know 'cause of Granny." Dewey watched her climb down, then crossed his arms.

"I shouldn't say, really. I was asked to keep it under wraps." Webbie nodded.

"I totally understand, you and your brothers have a special bond." Dewey was about to ask how she knew it was one of his brothers that taught him, but before he could she grabbed his hand and started running at a breakneck pace, again. Dewey was forced to follow, again, but he didn't really mind. He wasn't sure he could mind, even if he wanted to. Webbie was holding his hand and he was actually happy and not worried. Perfect day. Even the sun seemed brighter than usual, but that could just have been because he hadn't seen it in awhile. They arrived at the McDuck manor shortly, since it wasn't too far away. They walked around back, climbed over the gate, and Webbie got ready to scale another tree to get inside to a window Mrs. Beakley often forgot to lock, when Dewey put a hand on her shoulder. She turned around to look at him, her brow furrowed.

"Are you okay, Dewey? Do we need to go back?" She asked, but he shook his head.

"I just wanted to ask you... something. How do you feel about me?" She cocked her head and looked him in the eyes.

"What do you mean? Because I really like you... you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, but like..." he motioned with his hands for a moment, unable to bring himself to the right words. "Do you like like me like I like like you?"

She paused for a minute, seeming to catch her breath and let it go again many times. Finally, she said "I don't know. I mean, it's complicated. I really like you..." she trailed off and looked at the sky. "Would you be angry if I said I needed to think?" Dewey shook his head empathetically.

"No! I understand. Take your time, I don't wanna, like, pressure you. I just wanted to know because I know we're really close, and I like that."

"Okay, thanks, Dewey!" She exclaimed, beaming at him. He grinned back. Even though she didn't know how she felt, he was happy she knew how he felt. There was something so bright in his heart, so light, that just made him want to smile. So he did.

They climbed back into the house through the window, which luckily Mrs. Beakley had forgotten to latch and stared right into Scrooge's face.


	16. August 11th, 2018 (Part III)

"What in the dismal downs are ye doin' out of the hospital?" Uncle Scrooge asked calmly, his face betraying nothing. Dewey almost shivered from how cool his uncle was, but Webbie looked him dead in the eye.

"Dewey needed to get out of that stuffy place! You could see it in his eyes!" She exclaimed. Scrooge considered her for a moment, the importance of her unusually fiery words not lost on him. Dewey nodded meekly, but then looked at the ground when Scrooge's gaze turned to him. He was panicking. What if Scrooge threw him out or made him go back to the hospital? What if Scrooge was one of the silent angry people who just held you in contempt for the rest of your life? That would be terrible. What if- Dewey took a large, deep breath. In. He exhaled. Out. He repeated the action a few times, desperate for some level of security, even if it was false. He could barely hear them talking, like it was all too much already and he had to shut it out to keep on living.

"Fine. Let's take a vacation, lad. Maybe that'll suit you more," he finally heard Scrooge say in a amiable tone. Dewey looked up at Scrooge. He wasn't going to throw him out or be angry. It would all be okay. Dewey nodded and Webbie squealed.

"Family vacaaaation! Where are we going? Are we gonna hunt for treasure? Will there be giant bats? Can Lena come?" Scrooge chuckled at her, and Dewey found himself to smiling at her excitement. She was a tiny sun.

"Let's go to Monacrow. We'll not hunt for treasure this time around, and I don't think there should be giant bats... and, er, I'm not sure Lena's family would appreciate her being flown somewhere by Launchpad. In an aeroplane." Webbie nodded then bounced away to go pack, her excitement still strong. Dewey turned to follow her, but he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, turning him back around. "A little bit of advice, lad." Dewey nodded and raised an eyebrow. "I've seen the way you look at her. Give her a little bit of time, she'll find you when she needs you. The best things require the most patience." Dewey nodded again.

"Thanks, Uncle Scrooge," he said, then walked away. He would have all the patience in the world if only to see her smile. He walked to his room in silence, content despite himself. He hadn't felt more than a small burst of happiness in so long it almost felt weird to feel it for a while. He kept expecting it to fade away into nothingness, but for some reason it stayed. He smiled to himself as he walked through the manor, turned into his room, and began to pack. Huey and Louie were nowhere to be seen, but Scrooge was probably informing them ayt this very moment that they were going on a trip. Dewey couldn't stop smiling as he packed his bags with a few days of clothes, some books, and a flashlight. He climbed up on his bed to search for anything else he would need. Probably his phone, but he wouldn't put that in the suitcase. His phone. His readers. He hadn't posted in a month. Maybe... maybe it was finally time to let that go. Maybe he didn't need it anymore. Maybe all he really needed was the love of his friends and family to support him and see him through the tough times. Maybe it was time to say goodbye to them. He picked up his phone and held it in his hands for a moment. It was cold, as it hadn't been turned on in a few days, and he almost wanted to just disappear off the face of the internet. Leave that all behind and never write on it again. Leave them hanging. But he wouldn't, he couldn't. It would be annoying at best, cruel at worst. He opened his notes app and began to type.

August 11th, 2018

It's been a month and a day, dear readers. I've been through a bit. I was hospitalized for lack of sleep, then broke free with Webbie. She's awesome. She's my crush. I've been doing some thinking, and my life is on the up swing. I'm nowhere near better, not even close to normal, but somehow I feel good. Like I'm a repulsive disturbed hot mess of a boy, but I know somehow it's gonna all be okay. So I think, for real this time, I'm going to say goodbye to my readers. I stopped putting you guys in quotes, I'm sure you're happy about that. I like to think it symbolizes a renewed faith in everything, but maybe I'm just getting lazy.

I did want to say how much every single one of you has meant to me. I don't know how many of you there are, or who, but if you're reading this, you matter to me. You made my life a little more livable, and for that I thank you. Goodbye, and if I learned one thing from this, it was that if you need someone, reach out. Friends who love you are surrounding you.

Thank you.

Dewey took a final breath, deep and filled with sweet summer air, and hit post.

An hour later, everyone but Donald was on the plane and flying quite happily. Well, relatively happily. Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webbie were holed away, trying to put together a puzzle of paper that might just lead them to their mom, and Scrooge was flying the plane well enough to keep it in the air. Almost. Scrooge screamed as a large vibration went through the plane. Launchpad cheered, then remembered Scrooge wasn't trying to crash the plane, he was trying to fly it. Mrs" Beakley simply sighed. There was no one else quite like Scrooge McDuck, and it was probably better for the rest of the world that way.

"We're alright!" Scrooge called out, as the kids scrambled out of their hidey hole in surprise. "Woah!" He yelled as the plane began to tip. "Everyone! Spread your weight out evenly!" Everyone on the plane ran to make their weight spread evenly, with Launchpad, Scrooge, and Beakley at one end, the kids in the middle, and the jeep at the other. Launchpad casually put on a Darkwing Duck VHS for the group of kids to watch, but they were mostly ignoring it. It was stuck on the end credits sequence, which got boring after the six hundred and eighteenth time.

"Guys, I'm getting kinda bored... where did our puzzle go?" Dewey asked pointedly.

"I don't know..." Webbie shrugged, sighing.

"Man, I was really looking forward to our vacation. All this adventuring and magic is getting on my nerves. I need to calm down almost as much as you do, Dewey." Louie said, leaning his chin on his hand.

"Maybe we should just ask Uncle Scrooge about it?" Huey suggested, glancing at his brothers and Webbie. Everyone looked at each other, their faces a little brighter.

"But what if Scrooge won't tell us?" Dewey dared to ask, and everyone turned to him. "I mean, Scrooge has told basically no one but Donald what happened to her. We don't even know if she's alive!" Dewey gasped out, his eyes shining with tears. He was trying so hard not to cry. Webbie touched his shoulder and gave him a look.

"Cry if you need to, Dew, no one's judging you," Louie said softly. Dewey nodded thankfully and et the tears roll down his cheeks like two little waterfalls. He gasped for breath every once in a while, but mostly they stayed silent in respect for his sadness. They were all sad, anyway. And it was okay.

"I guess," Dewey said, startling the others. "We should ask him. We should at least try." Webbie nodded.

"If it's okay with all of us, I'll do it," Huey said, and stood up. The plane creaked ominously.

"Maybe you shouldn't stand up right now?" Louie said, and Huey shrugged, then sat back down. The plane creaked again, and Mrs. Beakley looked back at them.

"Is everything alright, children?" She asked and they nodded. Scrooge looked at her.

"I'm going to go out and fix it," he said, and her hands went straight to her mouth.

"Mr. McDuck with all due respect that is extremely unsafe. You've already put the children in harm's way, and the rest of us, too, and I won't have you face certain death and leave us with simply that incompetent nephew of yours, who still insists on living in a houseboat may I remind you?" Mrs. Beakley crossed her arms, her face screwed into the sternest frown she could manage. Her heart hurt at the thought of Scrooge leaving them behind, and though she wouldn't say it directly, she had more reasons than just hating Donald to keep him alive. They were... friends, of a sort. And Webbie looked up to him a great deal.

"I'm Scrooge McDuck, Beakley. If anyone can fix this bumbling bag of bolts, it's me." Mrs" Beakley kept frowning.

"I won't let you go out there! There has to be some other way down from here," she said. Launchpad looked up at her.

"Does that mean I can cr-"

"No." He looked back down at his feet.

"Well, what do you suggest we do?" Scrooge asked, his one eyebrow shooting up.

"I... I don't know," Mrs. Beakley said finally, sighing, taking her glasses off, and massaging her nose in her hand.

"Uncle Scrooge!" Huey shouted from the back. Scrooge glanced back at him.

"What is it, lad?" He asked, fully prepared for something childish. They were children, after all.

"What happened to mom?" Everything went silent for a moment, except for the Darkwing Duck credits theme playing loudly in the background, but it was almost like no one could hear that. They were too involved all of a sudden with their immediate lives to care about some random sound. The world seemed to hold its breath for a long moment as Scrooge looked Huey directly in the eyes. Huey stared right back, his face the definition of determination. There was near silence. Then, Scrooge sighed.

"Well, if we don't get outta 'ere alive, I suppose I should be honest with you kids," he said finally, and Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad both turned to him in sheer surprise. "Your mom, Della, my niece, was the best pilot I have ever seen. If anyone could have made it, it would have been her. It started a long time before she didn't make it though, a very long time back..." Scrooge said, and for a while it seemed that everyone had forgotten that they were in Death's very arms. They were spellbound by Scrooge's twisted tale of Della Duck. By the end of it, Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Scrooge were all in tears. Then Webbie stood up.

"Oops." There was a huge clang, and the plane began to fall.


	17. August 18th, 2018

All Dewey could remember was smoke and a blur of motion. His head hurt, but he had already been checked three times over and he wasn't hurt. Just shocked. And... somehow, his heart ached for his mom. To know that Scrooge could have stopped her, but didn't, broke his heart. They had been through so much, all of them, together. He didn't understand. Neither did Huey or Louie. They all sat, still in the half-gone plane, in shock.

"Lads," Scrooge said finally, after surveying the damage. "You must understand, I really tried my hard-"

"Did you, Uncle Scrooge?" Dewey asked, interrupting him.

"Yes, that's what I've been trying to tell you, I spent every penny my advisers would let me. They had to tear me away from the control station! I searched every inch of that moon! I lost so much! Please, you've got to understand," he said, falling to his knees before the children. Louie looked away, Huey looked pensive for a moment, then angry, and Dewey just looked... torn up. There were tears in everyone's eyes, even Mrs. Beakley's.

"I think we should go." Huey said, and Louie and Dewey nodded. They got up, ignoring Scrooge completely, and stood off to the side. Louie called Donald and asked him to pick them up.

"Yeah, I can. Are you guys okay?" He asked.

"We're fine. We just want to go," he responded, his voice like stone, flattened by the weather, then hung up.

They stood in complete, unending silence. It felt like hell. Louie shifted on his feet a few times, and Huey end up sitting for a good half hour. Not soon enough for any of them except maybe Scrooge, Donald drove up. It was a mystery how he made it there so fast, but Donald could be quite efficient if he set his mind to it. The triplets jumped in the car, and before Donald had a chance to register that there had been a plane crash, they were urging him to go. They drove back to the mansion, the scenery not quite as charming as it had been when they were flying. Maybe it was just the dull tint that had been pulled over everything after they found out what had happened to mom. Maybe it was just life. Dewey didn't quite know how to feel. The car was familiar. He liked that. The past few months had been a blast, but he wasn't sure he ever wanted to think about that, experience that kind of thing ever again. It hurt too much. The past few months had been like nothing he had ever felt, so maybe he was better to sticking with the familiar and safe. It was certainly more dependable. Maybe that made it better. It went against all his personal urges to stick with what he knew and be safe, but maybe his personal urges weren't what he should follow. He didn't want to abandon Scrooge, Webbie, Launchpad, and Mrs. Beakley, much less the life they had together in perfect harmony, but perhaps he should.

"So... Huey, Dewey, Louie," Donald started, acknowledging them each in turn. "What happened?" Huey looked at Louie. Louie looked at Dewey. Dewey looked out the window for a second, sighed, then looked at Donald through the rear-view mirror.

"Uncle Scrooge told us what happened..." he gulped, "to mom."

"Oh. I'm... sorry," Donald said, then they fell into silence once more.

That night it was completely silent. They were on the houseboat again, living with uncle Donald again, back to their old lives again, and uncle Donald was talking about going to Cape Suzette to find a job, or maybe St. Canard. Dewey lay in that silence, thinking about... everything. His panic threatened to bring him down that terrible rabbit hole of worries and fears and paranoia and "I knew this was comings", but he began to breathe. Really, just breathe. Focused on the ins and outs. In. Out. In. Out. He breathed like that, gentle and slow, until he felt himself drift off. To sleep.

When he woke up, he was surprised. He didn't quite remember going to sleep, but that was probably how it was supposed to be. He was... angry, still. He sat in bed, still thinking about Scrooge. What if... maybe uncle Scrooge wasn't just trying to get them to forgive him when he said he tried his hardest? It bugged him to know that unless their mother came back from the wrecked ship, down from the moon, and cleared things up. Unless Donald vouched for him. But Dewey brushed it off, and got out off bed. Even if he didn't know what was right, he couldn't make a decision without talking to his brothers. He learned that from mom. They ate breakfast, like everything was normal. They lived like everything was normal. They played like everything was normal. They acted like it was all so normal, as if Scrooge had never entered their lives, as if everything that had happened for the past year was just nothing. Webbie came to visit them one day, at the end of the week.

"Hey guuuuuys!" She shouted, and bounced into the houseboat, rocking it a little bit. "What adventures have you been going on this week?" Dewey looked at her, astounded.

"Did you think we adventured before we met uncle Scrooge?!" Huey and Louie looked at him, surprised. None of them had mentioned Scrooge McDuck for what felt like months, but it had really only been a week. Webbie shrugged.

"I assumed so, yeah. You guys were so good at it from the get-go."

"I guess we had it in our blood," Huey said casually, head resting on his hand. Louie sighed.

"We don't do anything normally, Webs." He cleared his throat. "Uncle Scrooge was... just a period."

"Oh come on, guys!" Webbie shouted, making all of them look at her. "You can't be this dense! Scrooge is a mess! You are all messes! You need each other! Come on! Don't tell me you really think you're fine like you are!" Webbie was downright shouting now, and Huey, Dewey, and Louie were looking at her like she was crazy. "I don't care what you think, but I need you guys to be together! Don't you understand anything about who we were, how we worked together! The harmony, is was..." she finally took a breath. "It was so beautiful it hurt, and I'm sure you felt it too. Don't you want that all? Scrooge tried as hard as he could, or at least that's what he said. Don't you guys want to... well, believe him?" Webbie had calmed down quite a bit in a very short amount of time, but now she had tears in her eyes. The sparkled as they ran down her cheeks, like falling stars. Dewey looked at his brothers, then back to Webbie.

"Well..." he said, standing up. "Maybe we could try to forgive him? I mean, it would take time and I'm not sure if it would happen, but if I'm being honest about my emotions, which is something I learned that I should do more, I really miss uncle Scrooge, and you, and Launchpad, and even your grandma." Huey and Louie nodded, and Dewey stepped closer to Webbie and hugged her tight. "If nothing else, we can try for you," he said, but in his heart he knew that it would be for all of them. Everyone needed a little adventure in their lives, and simply being with Scrooge had been the perfect adventure of a lifetime. Or, more than a lifetime, if you were like Scrooge and impossibly old.


	18. August 19th, 2018

Dewey could not believe what had happened in the last 24 hours... they had agreed to go back to Scrooge and help him, but found him imprisoned by a strange woman that none of them had ever seen before, none of them, except Mrs. Beakley. She was a witch. A powerful one, at that, who had a grudge against Scrooge. It didn't seem that uncommon, especially since Glomgold had been becoming more and more a regular part of their lives' lately, but there was something about this particular woman who managed to strike fear in the hearts of everyone she met.

But then Scrooge had fought back. Donald had fought back. Mrs. Beakley fought back. Lena fought back. Gyro Gearloose fought back. Fenton Cracksheel-Cabrera fought back. Manny fought back, Lil Bulb fought back, even Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webbie fought back. Everyone fought back and in a brilliant burst of resolve, something Dewey could swear he had never seen, much less been a part of, before. Webbie lost a friend, but all in all, it was a good day. At the end of the day, they were a family again, despite all that had happened. Everyone was sewn back together, and Dewey was so glad. When he was being honest with himself, he didn't want to live without Scrooge, even if his mom wasn't there. He didn't want to be bored.

The next day, Dewey sat on his bed staring out into the dizzying world beyond the glass. There was so much too it, so much that he saw now. Fighting against Magica had... changed him in some indescribable way. It had somehow widened his eyes to the wonders that lay beyond his own smallish world. Unfortunately, the sudden expansion lead to some... pain. Panic. The usual unpleasant cocktail that Dewey thought he had finally left behind. He sat there, his own thoughts congealing within themselves, until he was jolted out of his impromptu reverie by a shout.

"Hey Dewey! Whatcha... Dewey-ing?" Webbie's voice asked, and then he heard a small giggle. He peered over the edge of his bed, then climbed down quickly.

"Not much, Webbie. Nothing at all," he said, pushing away the small voice that was telling him to run. He wasn't about to start distrusting all the people that fought side by side with him less than a day ago because his mind was going screwy again. Not this time, this time he was going to hold his ground and fight back because this time he was not going to let the panic even have an inch in his brain. He was so solid now in his belief in these amazing people that he was sure he could hold off whatever his panic threw at him.

"Oh, well, that's good. For me. I mean, you might be bored, but I wanted to talk to you, so it's good for me that you're not doing anything."

"What do you want to talk to me about?" Dewey asked, feeling his heart skip a beat for the first time in forever that wasn't because of panic. It was... excitement!

"I think I've thought enough about what you told me the other day... oh, man, it feels like so long ago, but it was just last week... But, I think I like like you, too. And, once I saw what Magica could do, I realized that I needed to act. I mean, what if something like that happened to us again, and we..." she took a pause to swallow nervously. "What if we didn't make it out alive? I mean, seeing that it just..."

"It changed you, didn't it?" Dewey asked, and she nodded. "It changed me too, Webbie. I mean, part of me is just head over heels scared now. That part of me is running away from everything... but there's another part of me, a stronger part of me, that just wants to go. Not out of fear, but out of wanting to actually live! When I saw Magica, when I heard her story, I realized there are so many people and places I don't know, so many things I haven't done! I'm only ten, but for once in my life I can feel that I have my whole life in front of me, and I know now I want to live, really live, until the moment I die." Webbie's eyes lit up with his proclamation.

"Exactly! I think we should try this out. If it doesn't work, then we can still be friends forever. I mean, you said yourself, we have our whole lives ahead of us! We

should live until we can't!" Dewey nodded enthusiastically, then grabbed her hands.

"I'm so glad you like me too, Webbie."

"I'm glad you like me like that, too," she said, and they both looked to the floor, blushing intensely.

"Eww! What's going on here?" Louie's voice asked, and the both looked up, to see Huey and Louie staring at them like they had suddenly turned into fish.

"You'll understand it someday when you're older," Dewey answered, smirking.

"I'm older than you, Dewford," Huey said, a special pointedness coating his brother's name. Dewey just smirked more.

"What do you guys wanna do now?" Webbie asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

"I think we should play tag! I still need to win our supposed tie," Dewey shouted, then looked at Louie. "You are so going down this time."

"Not if I can help it," Louie said, then took off running down a corridor. Dewey took off after him, both of them faster than one would have thought quite possible. Huey raised an eyebrow at Webbie, who shrugged, the ran off in the opposite direction. Huey sighed, face-palmed, then climbed onto the top bunk strategize while he waited for them to circle back around.


End file.
